Experience is tiredness,
A weariness that lingers.
We spend our gold so quickly,
Like fleeting, precious fingers.
November's days have vanished,
No colors, no leaves remain.
The world devoid of beauty,
As if caught in endless rain.
Experience is sorrow,
For those no longer near.
Their presence now a memory,
Scattered far and clear.
But hope still flickers softly,
A flame that burns within.
Experience holds promise,
That joy will come again.
Yet ignorance persists,
A veil upon his mind.
He knows not what awaits him,
In the future he may find.
Experience is varied,
A tapestry of life.
With tiredness, sorrow, hope,
And ignorance in strife.
But through it all we journey,
Learning as we go.
For experience is the teacher,
That helps our spirits grow.
Experience
© Copyright: Павел Ишанов, 2023
Свидетельство о публикации №123110207528
Свидетельство о публикации №123110207528
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